Emptiness
By Montley
XXX
Once last sip poisons his lips
And he wishes to drown in one continuous motion.
He's been sinking into despair and does not know how to stop
XXX
Every single morning he tears through the pages in a scrapbook his mother had made for him, seeing the many pictures of himself with his…twin. It is the only proof to himself that the other boy had ever existed, especially since he is not even able to differentiate himself from the other boy if it is a photo where they are not wearing the classic monogrammed sweaters. He is almost able to smile, almost, at the memory of the itchy, warm sweaters his mother would sew every single Christmas, but since a year ago her workload for the sweaters decreased by the lonely number of one.
He lifts up his fire whiskey again, letting it pass through his lips and he feels the fire in his throat as he is drowning himself in sorrow while it laughs at him from its perch in his heart, forcing a lump to be forever lodged in his throat.
His family always stares at him, watching and waiting for him to finally combust or break down into tears. He averts his attention back to the lonely scrapbook and tears through the pages quickly, seeing himself smirking with his…brother.
Pain deteriorates him inside out. He no longer recognizes the happiness that he once felt, and everyone else tries to commiserate with him, but they just do not understand. Not one bit. They had never lost someone who meant the world, who had a piece of them inside the other that dies along with the other person.
As he walks through the streets of Diagon Alley, his hands in his pockets and his head bent down, he can feel the pitiful stares looming on him from those who he knows are thinking, 'Oh, there goes the broken boy.'
It seems nowadays that he can only enter his own store when he has had the proper amount of fire whiskey to get himself through the day. His mother has tried to get him to stop drinking in the morning, but all he does is ignore her, ignore everyone, all the while looking to his right where his best friend used to stand, his heart breaking all over again as he realizes that there will never be an identical face to his next to him ever again.
There are too many memories that cackle inside his ears and penetrate his brain when he is in the store, forcing him to only sit on the sidelines watching that shop-girl, Verity, run the store to the best of her ability. He stares at her as she works and helps other people, something that he feels he can no longer accomplish.
After the stores closes, some days he comes to her and kisses her without a reason besides trying to make himself feel happiness, to let some of her bubbly charisma enter him, embrace him, love him, but all she tastes is the fire whiskey on his tongue, and she was only stunned when he had kissed her the first time. But she does not mind, and she does not mind when he does it again and again and again, never feeling the happiness that he desires. And he knows he is numb.
He always returns back to his flat late at night with fire whiskey in his grasp. He looks at his reflection in a nearby mirror; he sees himself in it with disheveled hair, bags under his eyes, and an allayed expression. The emptiness he feels is emanated through the mirror, giving light to his cracks.
His hand is pressed against the wall as he supports himself before he gulps more fire whiskey down his throat to wash away the pain and despair as his head spins into a continuous motion that swings him to his bedside, like every other day.
With one last sip of the wine George can only collapse on his bed at the end of the day, drunken and disoriented before he falls into a deep slumber, not wanting to wake up and face another shit day.
Because every new day is a new kind of torture, so he tries to sleep it all away.
Yet, he does not realize that every wound that is festered will heal.
A/N For:
The Fanfiction Tournaments Competition: April
HP Potions Comp: Deflating Draught
Wand Wood Comp: Dogwood
Colors Comp: Blue negative